Page 47 of Love Bomb

Rona sat up straight in her seat, eyes wide, like a meerkat. “Something’s going on,” she said eagerly.

Bain’s heart sank. So much for the private, and urgent, conversation he’d planned.

“I forgot it’s Burn’s Night,” he said. “Dougal’s hosting a cèilidh in his new conference center.”

“A cèilidh?” Rona said with reverence. “I haven’t been to a proper Scottish dance since I left Invertary.”

With one glance at her face, Bain knew it was too much to hope that she wouldn’t want to go to this one.

He turned into the little carpark between the hotel and the conference center, and came to a stop in one of the spots reserved for hotel guests.

Calling the new building a conference center was a stretch. It was basically a huge room that Dougal repurposed depending on how it was used. Also, despite the name, to Bain’s knowledge, there had never actually been a conference in Invertary.

Still, Dougal had high hopes that would change. He envisioned business people flocking to the town to stay in his hotel and discuss yearly projections in his conference rooms. He even had a slogan for it: Invertary—a mecca for meetings.

It hadn’t taken off.

“We need to talk,” Bain said as he turned off the engine.

“You’ve talked enough,” Rona said, opening her door. “Words aren’t your friend. Go back to grunting and we’ll get along a whole lot better. I’m going to a cèilidh.”

With that, she was out of the car and hurrying toward the pub.

Bain rested his forearms on the steering wheel while he tried to decide if it was wise to follow. Then he saw three young men share a grin as Rona stalked their way. One of them held the door open for her, while another gave her his best “come hither” smile.

Hell no.

He couldn’t let her go in there alone. She’d fare no better than a minnow in a pond of piranha. He scrambled out of the truck and jogged to catch up with her. When he reached her side, he placed a proprietary hand in the small of her back and nodded to the guy holding the door.

The younger man’s smile instantly disappeared.

As well it should.

Poor Rona. She thought she was entering a cèilidh but really she was diving into shark-infested waters, with a sign around her neck declaring her Chum. The place was probably hopping with every Tom, Dick, and Harry in the Highlands, all out looking for an easy lay. Well, they wouldn’t find one with Rona. Not on his watch.

Suddenly, Bain felt much more comfortable in his skin. He was familiar with this role. He’d spent years being Rona’s protector. He could do it again.

“Go away,” Rona said over her shoulder as they entered the warm building. “I don’t need your bad attitude ruining my fun. And goodness knows, I could use some fun.”

He frowned at her, hoping like hell that fun wasn’t a euphemism for sex with some random guy whose biceps were bigger than his brain. Was Rona looking for an easy lay too? His vision turned red at the thought. That settled it. He was sticking to her side like glue. Somebody had to save her from herself.

And yes, he was aware of the hypocrisy in his reasoning.

But this was Rona. He’d rescued her when she was a child and it made him responsible for her.

“Don’t worry,” he assured her. “I’ll make sure you have plenty of fun. But first, we really need to talk.”

“I’ve had enough talking. And I’ll pass on your kind of fun too. I know what Bain sanctioned fun looks like. It means I get to be sheltered by an overprotective neanderthal who scares everyone else away. Not tonight. I’m dancing. And drinking. And laughing. You can either keep up with me or go home. Your choice.”

She unzipped her purple coat, stuffed her hat and mittens into the pockets, and hung it on one of the many freestanding racks Dougal had installed in the wide corridor between the pub and the conference center. She then stuck her chin in the air and strode toward the music.

Bain had no choice but to follow.

“Okay,” he said as he took her arm. “You win. We’ll dance and drink and laugh.”

She snorted. “We’ll see.”

Rona paused briefly to read the sign Dougal had pinned to the doors of the conference room. Cèilidh rules: Kilts must be worn with underwear. (This includes you, Fraser Savage.) She grinned before pushing the heavy doors open.